


spring flora

by YukinaMika



Series: 2020 [38]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Alternate Universe - Percy Jackson Fusion, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:29:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27263518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YukinaMika/pseuds/YukinaMika
Summary: There is a stranger in her territory. Ivy watches.For Maribat Platonic November Day 15 - Poison Ivy
Relationships: Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug & Pamela Isley
Series: 2020 [38]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1593016
Comments: 5
Kudos: 103





	spring flora

Gotham is what Gotham has always been. Uncompromising and harsh as it swallows everything in its wake and what it spits out are survivors.

It is no place for a nymph. Too little greeneries, too few fresh breezes and the water supply is poisoned on a weekly basis and the air is too heavy with smoke and gases.

But Pamela has never been a nymph. The blood that runs in her vein is as red as any mortal yet her hands have always shielded the little sprouts from the acid rain as she moves them to the glass house that her family owns.

Plants shiver under her touch as she tends to them, little by little until they rise and thrive under the harshness that Gotham forces on every one of them. She coaxes the tiny buds, caring and gentle until they unfurl, proudly standing in Gotham’s polluted air.

She knows nothing of the world of monsters and gods. All she knows of are the monsters that Gotham harbors in its underbelly, of the self-made fake gods that lord over the weak.

And then she is facing the man that she loved. That very same man who uses her and discards her the moment he has no more need of her.

Her blood boils, hot like Gotham’s summer and licking at her very skin. Plants rise to her call, coming and coming and they bow down under her command.

No, Pamela has never been a nymph. Her ears ring with the whispers of every little flower to enormous tree and her blood sings the song of madness that the maenads dance to.

She is the result of chaos and order. She is the legacy that remains.

* * *

Pamela wakes from her slumber, ears ringing with the chattering of her children. The sweet songs of robins greet her when she uncurls from her sleep.

She is Poison Ivy now. Pamela Isley is a name forgotten, unheard when she curls herself up in the heart of her territory.

Spring has always been the more joyous time of the year. Frost thawing and conceding the earth to the floras. Tiny sprouts poking their way upward and onward toward the first light of spring.

Winter did its best but her children are stronger. They endured the harsh frosts and now, they are budding and thriving and breaking through the snowy blanket.

The trees rustle their greetings as she walks amongst them. She trails along the usual road as she checks on her kingdom.

Every Rogue has their own M.Os. Each of them has their own areas. And Robinson Park is hers for as long as she has been around.

This is her kingdom for as long as she has awakened. It is hers to rule, hers to care for, hers to protect.

Every Gothamite knows that Robinson Park is Poison Ivy’s home. It is where plants thrive, where birds sing, where a misstep can end in death.

And yet, the vines whisper of an unannounced guest. A new face that strikes no resemblance in her mind as she stalks after the young girl.

* * *

_Plants flourish in her presence. They reach out, tiny leaves soft and green and little buds, so plum and full of life. It is almost as if spring has come._

_There is this sort of light that seems to follow her. A sort of softness that has no place in Gotham._

_If there is something that Gotham needs, it is light. Sunshine, moonlight, any kind of light that would shine on the shadowy roads, the darkened alleys._

_And this girl comes and brings the light that Gotham sorely lacks._

* * *

She watches and watches and the girl comes and goes.

She hears the quiet whispers as the girl talks to the flowers, the trees and the birds. She speaks in the way that Gothamite do not. It is a soft, sweet sound that tugs at your heart and sooths your frayed nerves.

She calls herself Marinette and there is a hint of accent in her voice that Ivy remembers from her past memories of a big house and a father and a mother and the glass house that gave shelter from the acid rains. She remembers hearing it at one of the galas when she was still Pamela, smiling charmingly as she shot the breeze with a lovely ambassador from France.

“It looks like it’s going to rain soon,” the girl murmurs to a patch of daisies, “Stay safe, ok? I know the rain here is pretty much diluted acid but please be strong.”

Ivy can hear the daisies’ delight and she watches as Marinette smiles and rises to her feet, bouncing toward the entrance with a spring in her steps.

Robinson Park is basically the heart of the lion’s den and the metaphorical lion here is Poison Ivy and yet this girl walks freely with something akin to joy in her shoulders and in her eyes is the kind of gentleness that seems so out of place in this darkened city.

And for a moment, Ivy wonders. She remembers how the plants reach to her, all stretching out like she is the sun and they are thirsting for a little ray of light after so many years under Gotham’s cloudy skies.

Is she a child of the sun? Do her eyes see the future and what would become of this very place? Or is it her ears that are ringing with the voice of her god as she acts as his latest priestess?

She does not keep an ear on the world of heroes and monsters but the last time she heard, there is a new Oracle of Delphi. One girl with hair of fire and a heart that beats steady even in the presence of titans.

Marinette is not that girl but her eyes glaze over when she is in the shelter of this park. It is almost like she is listening to something.

Ivy just does not know what it is.

* * *

_What Ivy does not know is that the blood that runs in Marinette’s veins is not so different from that runs in hers._

_It is no inchor but deep red, like the blood of mortals. And yet, it carries the same power that surges in her own veins._

_The earth bows to her commands and the plants turns to her like sunflowers toward the sun. And she walks the earth just as her godly grandmother does._

_What she brings is spring – the power to give life, amplified by the Miraculous on her ears._

_She is the thaw after a harsh winter, the warmth that caress the buds sleeping under the blanket of snow. She is the first song of the birds, the first light that melts the frozen earth._

_Marinette smiles and waves at her sort-of aunt._


End file.
